


Exposure

by Chiauve



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comedy, Drama, Drug Use, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, STARS Era, Slow Build, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-16 12:10:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21507733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiauve/pseuds/Chiauve
Summary: An accident on a mission brings Chris and Wesker closer together. Soon after, the local news station wants to do an expose` on the STARS, bringing unwanted scrutiny. Meanwhile, a former member of the Wesker Project is furious at Spencer’s recklessness in killing off the children they worked so hard to make with a virus that clearly doesn’t work. He intends to save the few remaining by exposing Umbrella, and a public news piece involving one of them is the perfect opportunity.
Relationships: Chris Redfield/Albert Wesker
Comments: 20
Kudos: 146





	1. Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Also known as the Three Plot Mashup. Nanowrimo for 2019. I don't have plans past a certain point so let's see where this goes. I will adjust tags as necessary as we go along.

“He did what?”

“Checked himself out and went home.”

“He can’t do that!”

“Yes he can, Chris. It’s stupid as hell, but he can. If all he's going to do is lay around in the hospital while pumped full of drugs I can kind of understand why he’d rather be home for recovery. You know he hates hospitals.”

“Can you name me anyone who doesn’t, Jill?”

“Hypochondriacs?”

Chris ignored her response. He did appreciate her trying to lighten the mood but he couldn’t go along with it right now. The image of how they’d found Captain Wesker was burned into his mind and had yet to be soothed by the knowledge that he was going to recover. Mangled among the rubble, blood everywhere…

They’d been raiding a warehouse, Alpha team split into pairs to cover more ground. Wesker picked Chris to go with him and check upstairs. As point man, Chris took the lead as they made their way to the stairwell and yet for whatever reason Wesker started the ascent first. The stairway looked suspect, the warehouse long abandoned, and Wesker suggested they take them one at a time, just in case. Chris should have gone first.

Wesker had learned that the warehouse was the meeting place of several leading arms dealers and instead of charging in guns blazing and possibly spooking them and their men back underground, they’d tried to sneak in.

Arms dealers, for crying out loud. What was it about Raccoon City that attracted that kind of thing? The city wasn’t large and was, overall, pretty pleasant. Was it the isolation? Was it because it housed a massive corporation like Umbrella? He remembered being initially baffled that an outfit like STARS existed for such a quaint little city, but between the active crime and the vast expanse of mountainous forest containing endless what-the-fuckery the Strategic Terrorism and Rescue Service always had plenty to do.

And they decided they were good enough to stop picking off the middle men and pawns of an arms ring and were ready to take down the big fish, but they had to track them down first. Going undercover was the best option and Wesker volunteered. He insisted he was the best for this. How, Chris wondered, when his specialty in this merry band was bio-engineering? If they had an outbreak of something then Wesker was their guy otherwise he was there to boss everyone else around.

Turned out Wesker was an extraordinarily good actor.

Not that that was new information really, as Joseph pointed out, since Wesker was always going on about his many “lady friends” and yet as far as anyone could tell he never left the damn RPD. The man had no life outside STARS.

That made Chris oddly sad and he was constantly trying to sweet talk Wesker into coming out with the team for a drink, but so far no luck.

Then he thought he never would. Wesker was a flight of stairs above him, Chris still waiting at the bottom of the steps, when there was a deep rumbling throughout the building, then a horrible shrieking noise and the floor shuddered under Chris’ feet. Wesker only just opened a channel on his radio to ask what that was when the stairs under him buckled and broke and he dropped, the rest of the stairs falling after him. It was seconds and yet to Chris it went so slowly he could see everything but, trapped in this time warp, he couldn’t move at all. Wesker hit the stairs below, halting briefly, before the tumbling flotsam hit and those broke as well. The noise was horrific, clattering and shrieking and Wesker hit the floor among the debris and Chris thought it was over.

The floor collapsed beneath him and Wesker disappeared, the entire stairway surrendering to the stress and caving in and down. The inner wall cracked and broke, taking part of the roof with it, and Chris finally snapped out of his fugue and just jumped back in time as the floor cracked at his feet.

The entire corner of the warehouse collapsed, Chris standing dumbfounded at its edge and Wesker beneath it all.

Oh god…no.

There was yelling in his radio, voices that made no sense, then slowly words formed, demanding to know what happened.

Chris couldn’t look away from the mess despite the dust, eyes blinking furiously but otherwise everything else felt sluggish. He gasped and coughed, doubled over and started hacking, and his brain jerked back into a form of functional.

“Wesker’s down,” he gasped, “the stairwell collapsed…he was on them…oh my god he fell he’s _gone_ …!”

Captain Marini’s voice cut in over the radio, clear and harsh and Chris clung to them like an anchor in the dust. “Get outside, Redfield. They knew we were coming and set a bomb, it went off prematurely but the warehouse is coming down.”

_How did they know?_

“I’m not leaving, sir,” Chris’ words sounded more confident than he was. The sound of the collapse was still ringing in his ears and his hands shook. “Wesker’s down there, I’m going after him…”

“That’s a no-go, Chris. We’re getting everyone out first.”

“I’m going down there!”

“Damnit, Chris! You getting your ass crushed won’t help the Captain, and if you try to climb down there you might just bring more of the building down on him. Get outside, that’s an order!”

Chris froze, understanding the logic of it but unable to comply. Marini continued to give orders to the scattered team, ignoring Chris’ silence. Finally Chris opened a channel and said, quietly:

“I’m not leaving him.”

“Fucking hell, Redfield…”

“I’m staying where I am. If things start falling again I’ll beat it, but I’m not leaving the Captain alone.”

There was a long pause, and then, “I’m not wasting time arguing with you. Fine, but Wesker’s going to beat your ass later. Keep your eyes peeled there may still be someone here.”

Chris acknowledged and then stood there, unsure what to do. He didn’t holster his gun, listening in the sudden silence for footsteps or movement. He wasn’t going to climb down after Wesker now, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to look down and see if he was within sight, or was conscious and could hear Chris.

With cautious steps he approached the hole in the floor, eyeing the half-collapsed walls. Looking down he saw nothing but dark and bits of metal and concrete, using a flashlight yielded little more as the light only refracted all over the dust. Sudden dread crept over him: Wesker couldn’t survive that. Wesker was just a bloody smear now, crushed into the floor and—

No, there was a chance. People had survived worse.

“Captain!” he called, “I’m here, answer me! Any way you can, I’ll hear you!”

If someone could ‘listen hard’ Chris was doing it, his head craned over open space as he wait for a voice, a tap on a rock, a scrape against metal…anything.

Nothing. Chris’ heart sunk.

Settling himself to the floor, Chris waited, alternatively calling down into the pit that was once a warehouse basement and listening for any sign of life. Finally lights flashed in the few windows still intact and Chris could hear voices and chatter flared to life on the radio. Much as anyone wanted to, and Chris was sure STARS was chomping at the bit, the rescue team couldn’t just swarm into the warehouse. They couldn’t risk more people to carelessness.

It was a very long night. Search and Rescue was called in but they specialized in the mountains and were mostly civilian volunteers, though there were some military vets with engineering experience among them. It was various officers of the RPD that led the slow, cautious way down into the basement to try to free Captain Wesker from below, STARS and SAR in tow. Locating the collapsed corner where Wesker had fallen, the digging efforts were low-tech: they formed a human chain and pulled away what rubble they could lift, occasionally teaming up to shove aside large chunks of building. Now and again they stopped for a breather, using that time to listen not only to the sounds of the building but for Wesker.

They saw the puddle of blood seeping among the pieces of concrete before they saw the Captain, and cold gripped Chris’ heart. An unconscious surge among the rescuers sped up their digging only to stop when the beams piled above them groaned. Chris screamed inwardly as they proceeded forward at a crawl and began to send most of the civilians back up to the surface, only STARS, a few police officers, and medics remained.

Finally the broken blocks fell away and revealed a gap amidst the rubble, and in that gap lay Wesker’s twisted, blood-covered body. The senior medical officer climbed in and announced, miraculously, that Captain Wesker was alive. The steel beams of the stairwell had fallen in just so to create a set of crossbeams that had protected him from the rest of the falling building, but the fall itself had done its damage and Wesker was unconscious and in critical condition.

It was early morning by the time they managed to extract Wesker from the rubble and carry him up to the waiting ambulance, Chris unable to allow himself to stay far away even when ordered to. The news that Wesker was alive left a relief that gutted him and left him shaking, and yet seeing Wesker as he was carried passed in a stretcher only shook him more. Too pale beneath the dirt and blood, too still and limp…

But he was alive, and despite a few close calls on his way to the hospital it was finally passed on to the rest of STARS that he would recover. Unable to stay at the hospital they’d been sent back to the RPD and with this news finally went home to rest.

Barely thirty-two hours after a building fell on him and Wesker fucking checked himself out of the hospital and went home. Chris wanted to scream. He was in fact gathering Alpha team to go visit their captain when Jill dropped the proverbial bomb on him.

Blood everywhere. Across his skin, in his hair, dripping from his mouth…

“He was so badly hurt.”

Jill’s face softened and Chris realized he’d spoken aloud.

“I know, but from what I know of him, he seems the type to retreat when he’s hurting. Maybe the whole team showing up on his doorstep isn’t the way to go.”

“Someone should check on hm.”

“Of course, but just some _one_. Look, his Jeep’s still in the parking garage, check his desk for the keys and take it back to his place and check on him while you’re there. I’ll come pick you up.”

“Don’t worry about that, I don’t live too far away, I’ll call a cab.”

“It’s no trouble, Chris, but alright. I’ll tell Barry where you went if you wanna take off early. I really doubt anyone would care today.”


	2. Transitional

Chris didn’t know what to expect as he pulled into the parking lot of Wesker’s apartment complex. Something fancy, maybe? Wesker sometimes carried himself with an air of precision Chris usually attributed to the high-class snobbery, his vocabulary occasionally jumping up to heights that forced Chris to crane his neck back, and his appearance was meticulously maintained.

On the other hand Wesker could hock a loogie an impressive distance off the roof of the RPD just to show up Joseph when he tried it.

Chris couldn’t tell if Wesker was a common man trying to make himself appear more high-classed or a high-classed man attempting to blend in with the commoners. Neither? Both? Sometimes Wesker didn’t seem to know either. Really though, these were pointless trains of thought; Wesker specialized in bio-engineering and was previously an officer in the army, obviously he was educated and knew how to carry himself in such a way to inspire confidence in his leadership. Frankly, all the members of STARS were above average in education and skills. Chris was certainly no slouch in either department.

And yet his apartment looked like shit so what did he know.

The complex was unremarkable, nestled between downtown and the suburbs. Chris parked the Jeep and went searching for Wesker’s apartment, eyes skimming over obnoxiously small numbers on hidden doors. He found it on the ground floor one building over from where he parked and reminded himself to ask Wesker where his assigned parking space was, if he had one.

Chris knocked on the door then wait, expecting that Wesker wasn’t going to be able to answer quickly. But was he going to be able to answer at all? What if he was resting and Chris woke him up? Shit. But on the other hand, what if he really should have stayed at the hospital and was in trouble? What if he was unconscious on the floor, slowly dying while Chris just stood here stupidly and…

There was a muffled curse inside and some shuffling and the sound of clacking. Another wait and then, finally, the door opened and there was Wesker, shorter than usual as he leaned on a pair of crutches. Seeing Chris, his face darkened.

“What the hell, Redfield.”

Chris stared. Wesker looked far better than when Chris last saw him but he still looked like shit. He was too pale and had dark smudges under his eyes and scrapes on his face. Even just standing there his movements were off, his breathing ragged. Under the loose shirt and sweats he wore Chris could see bandages and both Wesker’s arm and left knee were in a cast.

Chris was not so foolish to consider Wesker invulnerable, but he kept himself so maintained and controlled that Chris couldn’t help admiring the man. Seeing him battered and diminished was throwing him off.

Wesker narrowed his eyes at Chris’ silence.

Say something, damnit. “I brought your Jeep back.”

Wesker seemed to shrink into himself a little, as though relieved. “I see. Thank you, Chris. I’ll call you a cab to take you back,” and he shuffled back and started to shut the door.

“Wait!” Chris said and stopped the door. They both winced; Wesker at the painful resistance and Chris for realizing he caused it. “Sorry... Mind if I wait inside? It’s kind of chilly out.”

Wesker glared but lurched away from the door on his crutches, leaving it open. Chris entered and shut the door behind him.

“You gave us a scare, hearing you’d left the hospital like that,” Chris began, “So I brought the Jeep back but the team wanted me to check on you. Everyone’s worried.”

“I’m sure,” Wesker muttered, heading back to the couch and easing himself down. He settled back into the dull cushions, his eyes squeezed shut in pain.

“Can I get you anything?” Chris asked.

“No.”

Chris stood there awkwardly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Wesker apparently forgot about the cab as he made no move for a phone. Chris looked around for one but didn’t see it.

He had to admit to himself some curiosity of seeing the home of Captain Wesker and found he was left underwhelmed. It was a single bedroom apartment, a couch, coffee table, and television in the main room and nothing else. No photos or posters on the wall, no sign of personal effects at all save one book from the library on the coffee table. The furniture itself was the kind you bought cheap at the department store.

It reminded Chris of the military, living off-base with very little because you might get picked up and moved at any time. Transitional.

Wesker continued to sit and not move so Chris went to the kitchen looking for the phone. A wireless one sat in its cradle on the kitchen counter but again outside of that there was no sign of personality. The fridge was bare of magnets or pictures, there was no fruit or bread or anything sitting out for snacking. Picking up the phone and heading back into the main room he dared a glance into the bedroom. He shouldn’t be looking but oh well.

The same. There was a bed, a dresser, and a small writing desk against the wall, no pictures, nothing. Even the bedclothes were generic, solid color and dull. Wesker kept everything neat and organized and depersonalized, just like work. What the hell did he do on his time off? What did he like? Did he have any family?

God, Chris thought, No wonder he spends all his time at work, what does he have to come home to?

He set the phone down on the coffee table and perched himself on it across from Wesker. The Captain’s eyes were still shut in pain and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Do you have painkillers?” Chris asked, getting worried.

“Call a cab and leave,” Wesker ground out and Chris winced at how he sounded.

“I don’t mind staying,” he offered, “I can help out, if you need it.”

“Go. Away.”

“You really shouldn’t be alone right now. Hell, you shouldn’t have left the hospital—“

“I don’t need help,” Wesker snapped, wanting to lean forward but grimacing instead, “I’ve always managed alone, this is no different.”

“Look, I don’t know how your life is, but you’ve got us now, me and the team, we want to help you, if you let us. I’ll leave, but please call us if you need anything...”

Wesker started to slump a little, eyes drooping as he lost battle with consciousness, the arguing wearing him down. “I don’t...need anyone. I...don’t...” He trailed off as his eyes shut.

“Wesker?” Chris whispered, a little concerned but also aware the man needed rest. He decided not to wake him back up, but also knew he couldn’t just leave; who’d lock the door after him?

He’d leave when Wesker woke back up. In the meantime, he’s make sure Wesker was going to be okay on his own for a bit.

He quietly took the phone back to the kitchen and returned it to its cradle. The bag of Wesker’s medications and instructions were beside it, apparently dropped and ignored. Chris opened it and pulled out several antibiotics and pain meds, intending to put them on the coffee table where Wesker could reach them, then, looking at the many pages of instruction, decided against it and put them back. What else could he do?

Clean up? No, the place was spotless, horrifyingly so. Chris opened the fridge and peered at the meager contents in disappointment. Milk, some leftover take-out, cheese, and sliced ham. He tried the cupboards and got little more: gross bran cereal, bread, and canned veggies and fruit.

Reminder: go buy Wesker easy ready-meals for his busted ass. In the meantime Chris decided to make some sandwiches with the bread, cheese, and ham and wrap them so Wesker could have them whenever he was hungry.

He was on the third sandwich when he heard Wesker stir in the next room. The stir became a gasp, a grunt, then a thud as Wesker hit the floor. Chris set down the sandwich to hurry out to help.

“Anna! I’m...... _Fuck_ ,” soft, almost a sob.

Chris froze. Oh, shit, he should have left. He shouldn’t be here.

He’d _never_ heard Wesker sound like that.

What was he going to do? Wesker would never forgive him for overhearing such vulnerability. He stepped back into the kitchen, into the corner as though that extra foot of distance would mean anything and then called, as though surprised: “That you, Wesker? You up?”

Please fall for that.

There was silence and then loud, clumsy thundering and Wesker appeared in the entryway without his crutches, panting and leaning on the counter for support.

Chris was glad he was already in the corner because the look on Wesker’s face would have backed him into it.

The man was ugly when enraged. His face red and twisted into a snarl, made all the worse by his wounds, teeth bared. His pale eyes were practically glowing with rage. His messy bangs clung to his damp forehead. It was ridiculous and yet no less terrifying.

“Get the fuck out of my home!” Wesker snarled, spittle flying.

Chris lifted his hands in placation. “Okay, okay I’m going.” He’d walk to a payphone and call a cab there. Jesus Christ.

He slowly moved towards the entryway, meaning to slide past Wesker, when the captain began to slump. Wherever he got that burst of strength to dash over to the kitchen without help burned out fast and died. He coughed once then, eyes rolling back, dropped.

Chris lunged and caught him, lowering him and resting his back against the counter. There was a bit of pink flecking Wesker’s lips and he shuddered as he panted. Shit and fuck.

“You fell two and a half stories and had a building fall on you, you stupid asshole. What part of that made you think ‘yeah, I’m gonna go home and sprint around my apartment’? Holy shit,” Chris muttered. He reached upward for the phone to call an ambulance.

Wesker’s hand shot up and stopped his arm. His eyes were wild and partially unfocused as he hissed, “No.”

“You need to be in the hospital.”

“ _No_.”

Against his better judgment, Chris left the phone and squat in front of his ailing Captain. “Fine,” he said, voice firm, “But I’m staying here. You’re in no position to throw me out.”

“I can...call...the police...” Wesker gasped out.

Chris grinned. “I am the police.”

Wesker huffed out a chuckle at that then groaned, good arm wrapping around his middle.

“We’ll argue about it later,” Chris said, sobering, “I’m putting you to bed.”

This time Wesker didn’t fight as Chris wrapped an arm around him and slowly hoisted him upward. Wesker’s lucidity decided to stay on the floor and he mumbled incoherently as Chris tried to steer his staggering captain to the bedroom. There Chris flipped aside the covers one handed and gently lowered Wesker onto the bed, careful not to jostle him or bump his casts. Wesker passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow and Chris was glad of that as he tucked the blankets around the older man.

And stay there, Chris thought.

Back in the kitchen he finished a couple more sandwiches, made one more for himself, and then called Jill at the STARS office.

“Yeah, let Captain Marini know I might be on babysitting duty for a bit...”

* * *

Wesker didn’t even have cable and that was Chris’ last straw. What the hell did this man _do_ all day?

The library book on the coffee table was a typical police crime mystery, the kind you got at the airport to read and forget. The only other things of entertainment or even personality was a couple of audio tapes stacked on the little entryway table for use in the Jeep. Four actual mix tapes that looked old as hell. Two had the music on them properly labeled (Lynyrd Skynyrd, AC/DC, Merlin, CCR, The Ramones…Wesker’s usual old man music) the other two were labeled _I’m going to kill someone_ and _Long Trip_ and Chris had no idea what was on them.

Chris made use of the bathroom and found Wesker’s not-at-all-hidden porn magazines. When he had the sudden thought to look at them and see what Wesker liked he realized, with dread, that maybe there was something other than ‘admiration’ going on with him in regards to his captain. He kicked the magazines aside and fled back to the main room.

To kill time and prepare himself for when Wesker woke up, Chris organized the bag of meds and read through the pages of care instructions, frowning the more he read.

There was no way Wesker should have been able to walk out of the hospital. He’d been mangled, there was internal damage, he lost so much blood...

He heard movement from the bedroom and hurried over before Wesker could do something stupid like get up. He caught the man in the middle of trying to sit up, one arm wrapped around his middle and alternating between cursing and groaning.

“You should stay in bed,” Chris said.

Wesker actually jumped, eyes snapping to Chris and staring at him as though he were a stranger.

“...Chris?”

“Yeah, I'm sticking around for a little bit, to help. You need to be resting.”

“What?”

Chris frowned. “You started screaming at me and passed out.”

Eyes darting around, Wesker didn’t look convinced. Finally he sighed, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “Yes...I remember now.”

Um. “Okay then,” Chris said, “I think you’re past due for some pills so I’ll get those for you, then I want to check some of those bandages...”

“No.”

Patience, Redfield, patience. “Yes, Captain, clean bandages are part of the healing process, you see...”

“Don’t patronize me. And if you touch me I’ll rip out your intestines and stuff them down your throat and you can taste your lunch twice.”

Wow, Chris couldn’t wait to tell Claire there was someone who handled being cared for worse than her. And...wait.

What the hell?

“Do you...did you just get an accent?”

“What?”

“You normally have a gratey-flat drawl—“

“A _what_?”

“But you just went flat...British? Are you British? Oh my god you’re British! That explains everything!”

Wesker just stared at him, as though slippery lizards instead of words were falling out of Chris’ mouth. Slowly, without a word, he shifted and laid back down, his back to Chris.

“I thought the English had better manners,” Chris grumbled and went to get Wesker’s meds.


	3. Visitor

They reached an agreement of sorts when Wesker let Chris give a cursory look over of his bandages but nothing more. Chris relented when the dressings still looked acceptable and decided to try Wesker a little later when he was high on pain meds. This plan also failed when it turned out the medications did diddly-shitfuck and Wesker continued to bitch and snarl at everything Chris did.

A building fell on Wesker and he walked out of the hospital less than two days later and top-tier pain meds didn’t affect him.

_British drug dealer?_

Now that Chris thought about it, nobody really knew much about Wesker. Not even enough for them to make up shit about him.

The accent slipped away to whence it came, though Chris could hear bits of it here and there now that he was listening for it.

Wesker stayed in bed for the rest of the day, either reading his one book or sleeping. Chris watched the daytime news for a while before switching to a soap opera. How many times could someone fake their death before people just started ignoring them?

“Chris!”

Huh, his name sounded _really annoying_ when Wesker said it like that. Chris got up and went to the bedroom.

“What?”

“I’m moving to the couch. Get my crutches.”

Chris leaned on the doorframe. “What’s the magic word?”

Wesker glared. “You force yourself into my home, demand to be able to help me, and now you act like I owe you something?”

“Yeah?”

Wesker shoved his blankets aside and, grimacing, started to try to get out of the bed.

“Oh my god, Wesker. You’d rather hurt yourself than say ‘please’?” Chris said, surrendering and moving to help the older man.

Wesker swat at him when he got too close. “I said my crutches, I can move around myself.”

Now that he was closer, Chris reconsidered helping Wesker move at all. His breathing was a little faster and a sheen of sweat was on his face and what skin Chris could see at his shirt collar.

“You should stay in bed. I’ll get you more pain killers—“

“They don’t work, Chris. Or barely do,” Wesker sighed. His head bowed as his strength ebbed. “I’m bored, Chris, and I hurt too much to sleep. I’m just going to stay on the couch and watch TV.”

Chris could win this fight easily. Wesker looked burned out and wouldn’t be able to do a thing if Chris shoved his legs back onto the bed and made him stay. But with this thought came no satisfaction. Chris found he didn’t like a surrendered Wesker.

_At least not in this way._

Oh no, hell no, no fantasies about Albert Fucking Wesker.

“Alright,” Chris said, “but let me help you, it’ll be easier.” Chris reached out and slung Wesker’s good arm over his shoulder. Wesker didn’t fight, didn’t say anything, as Chris guided him back to the couch in the living room. His eyes stayed shut, mouth drawn in a firm line with every step. Chris settled him on the couch, gently swung his legs up so he was reclined, and then fetched a chair from the desk in Wesker’s bedroom for himself.

Wesker took the remote and changed the channel back to the news.

“I was watching that,” Chris grumbled as the traumatized faces of soap actors flicked away.

“It wasn’t Tawny who died but her identical twin sister who was jealous and trying to steal her life.”

“What? How would you know, they don’t repeat.”

“I saw this plot coming a mile away. There’s never an end to evil twins in the world, apparently.”

The local news rarely yielded anything exciting. There was mention of the warehouse collapse in which Wesker frowned and then changed the channel when his injured state was mentioned and a photo placed on the screen. Chris thought he heard the man mutter something about someone not doing their job.

Evening crept in and Chris considered his options. He could leave tonight and come back in the early morning, he could leave and not come back and expect Wesker to be an adult, or he could crash on the couch so Wesker couldn’t lock the door on him and keep him out tomorrow.

The doorbell rang and Chris jumped. Who the hell would be visiting this late? He looked to Wesker whose eyes were half-closed in a doze, his arms around his middle and his non-casted leg partially bent as though he were trying to curl in on himself. He blinked at the noise but seemed unconcerned though confused. Chris stood and opened the door partially.

“Hello?” he asked the worn out, reedy looking man on the other side of the door.

The stranger frowned. “Who are you?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? What do you want?”

The other man’s mouth twisted in annoyance and he tried to peer past Chris. “Wesker! Who the hell is this?”

“Hey, answer me or—!”

“It’s alright, Chris,” Wesker said, softly in exhaustion yet still clear, “He’s... an old college friend.”

Chris frowned but let the man pass, glaring at him as he entered. He got one right back before the stranger turned his attention to Wesker. There was something about him Chris didn’t like. If college friends then they should be around the same age but the stranger had that cracked, worn look that made him seem older. Not in the same way Barry looked older than Wesker, despite the fact they were the same age, but something...artificial. Dull.

Wrong.

“So I heard you got your ass kicked,” the stranger said in a tone that was mocking but not without familiarity. Chris couldn’t help but rankle at it.

“A building falling on me is not the same as an ass kicking,” Wesker growled, “I don’t get ass kickings. I am ass-kicking proof.”

Guess some of those meds were working after all.

“Of course, of course,” the man said glibly, then set a large paper bag on the coffee table.

Chris had to intervene. “Wesker, who is...?”

“My apologies, how rude,” Wesker sighed. He gestured to Chris, “This is Chris Redfield, one of my STARS. Chris, this is William.”

Right. William No-Last-Name. “Nice to meet you, William.”

“Likewise.” Not at all.

“So why are you here,” Chris asked, trying to sound merely curious.

William glared at him and there was something piercing in that gaze. There was sharpness underneath that dull, flaccid exterior and alarm bells started ringing in Chris’ head. His old ‘friend’ of Wesker’s again turned from Chris and spoke to Wesker instead.

“I brought you some painkillers and the, uh, alternative bandages from work.” He pulled out a piece of paper from the bag that had colorful scribbles on it. “Sherry made you a ‘get well’ card.”

Wesker shifted as though trying to roll over. “Why do I care?”

William frowned, practically pouted, then rolled the paper into a tube and started jabbing Wesker with it, “Appreciate when my daughter makes crap for you!”

“Fucking—! Pot and kettle, Will!” Wesker yelled, swatting him away.

William ‘hmph’ed and put the paper aside. He pulled out a smaller bag from the paper one and set it aside, then pulled out a large, flat, foil-wrapped container. “Also Annette made you brownies. I don’t know why.”

“’Made’ or ‘bought’?”

“Does it matter?”

“Are they...” Wesker paused and looked back at Chris, then whispered, “Are they _herb_ brownies?”

Chris’ hair stood on end as these grown ass men giggled evilly at that. Well, that at least proved the ‘college buddies’ thing. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes though. Really? ‘Herb’ brownies? Like no one older than twelve knew what that was.

Wesker shifted again and held out a hand. "Painkillers. I need them.”

This time William hesitated and actually scoot the little bag out of reach. “You can’t be trusted.”

“Fuck you, Will, I’m in pain. You know the normal shit doesn’t work on me.”

Again William’s sharp little eyes darted to Chris, though the malice was replaced more with curiosity. “Are you going to be here for a while?”

“No,” Wesker said.

“Yes,” Chris said.

William ignored Wesker and, grabbing the little bag, approached Chris and held it out. “These are very powerful painkillers. After whatever is currently in his system is gone he can take one of these every six hours. _One_. He will try to convince you to give him more. Don’t.”

Chris couldn’t help it, this guy was acting so grave about it. “What’ll happen if he has more than one?”

“He won’t just be high he’ll have a goddamn adventure and he’ll drag you with him.”

“He’s exaggerating, Chris.”

“I am not,” Will snapped, turning back to Wesker, “I still have the scar from last time!”

“I didn’t bite you _that_ hard.”

Chris’ eyebrows arched into his hairline at that. Oh boy, he suddenly wanted to hear about Wesker’s college days.

William grumbled in annoyance and turned back to Chris, handing him the bag. “One,” he repeated, “and these are fine to take with the antibiotics. Just don’t mix them with the normal painkillers. Medications act weirdly with him. He can handle the rest of it himself.”

“Right,” Chris said.

William eyed him, sizing him up in a weird way Chris couldn’t understand, then shrugged. “Anyway, that’s all. Don’t die, Wesker, it’ll make my job harder.”

“Always nice to know you care, Will.”

“And you,” he said to Chris, “Eat his brownies at your own risk. He’s murdered for less.”

Under normal circumstances Chris might have laughed or at least chuckled, but this guy gave him the creeps for one and on the other he didn’t seem to be joking.

“Goodbye, Will,” Wesker said, not looking at either of them but attention back on the television, “Go grab a nap before you go back to work you look like you’re about to unravel.”

William started muttering to himself again and walked out the door. Chris shut it after him without regret at lack of manners on either of them. He set the little bag of meds on the kitchen counter, unsure if he should really give ‘super meds’ from an apparent lunatic to his captain, then settled back in his chair by the couch. Wesker said nothing.

“So, old college friend, huh?”

Wesker sighed. “’Friend’ is a bit much. We studied together; it was more of a rivalry but the competition benefited us both, so there’s never been ill will between us.”

The accent started to creep through when he talked about this William guy and Chris couldn't help but be curious. “Studied...bio-engineering, right?”

“Yes. But afterwards I went into the army and eventually ended up in STARS while he works at the chemical plant. Accidental reuniting and all.”

“I guess that’s nice.” But unrelated. Why would William think Wesker’s death would make his job harder? The guy never actually seemed to really be joking about anything, for all the tone of bantering.

There was something very wrong here.

“If you’d give me one of those painkillers Will left you may leave.”

“I was thinking of staying the night, in case you needed anything.”

“No. If you absolutely have to you may stop by tomorrow.”

Chris wanted to insist but then Wesker’s broken voice from earlier echoed in his head and he said nothing. If Wesker really wanted him gone he should listen. Who was he to Wesker anyway? A teammate, no, a subordinate. He had no right.

And who was Anna? What was she to Wesker?

Why did Chris care?

“How do I know you won’t lock me out?” he asked, trying for a coy smile.

Wesker sighed, slumping back into the couch cushion, his eyes half-lidded. “You don’t. But if it’s the only way to make you get out of here, you may take the key. Just lock the door on your way out.”

That sounded like a good compromise to Chris, except, “Are you sure you’ll be alright on your own? What if you—“

“I’ve been looking after myself since I was a child, Chris. I’ll be fine. Now,” he held out his hand, “pill.”

Still Chris hesitated, then shrugged and fetched one of William’s little miracle pills. If these were good as Wesker’s not-friend claimed, Chris would have a better chance arguing with his captain about whether or not he was staying after having one. He popped the lid off of the unlabeled bottle and tipped out one round tablet. He gave it and a glass of water to Wesker.

Wesker eyed the pill. “I need two.”

“Your school buddy said only the one.”

“Will didn’t have a building fall on him and neither did you. Two.”

“We’ll start with the one and if you don’t start tripping balls I’ll give you two next dose.”

Wesker’s lip curled in annoyance but he swallowed the pill with a sip of water. The glass shook badly as he drank and Chris nearly reached out to help but figured he wouldn’t get his hand back if he did that, the way Wesker was acting.

“There,” Wesker grumbled, slumping back into the couch, “I’ll be fine now. Please leave, I’ll see you tomorrow, since I apparently can’t get rid of you.”

“I wanna change your bandages, you’ve put it off long enough.”

“No, and that’s final.”

“But...”

“What the hell did I just say? I can manage on my own, Chris. I don’t need you, I don’t need Will, I don’t need nurses or half the goddamn RPD stumbling around staring at me and pretending they care. I’m fine. Now leave.”

Chris stared at him. He felt like he should be hurt but it was only spongy bafflement absorbing Wesker’s sharp words.

“Nobody’s pretending, Wesker,” he said softly.

“Hm.”

“You nearly _died_. We do give a damn, hell if I know why at this point, and we’re worried about you.”

Wesker didn’t look at him, just stared at the TV, as his hands went limp and his head started to roll back as the medication took effect.

“That’s the hilarious part...” he muttered so quietly Chris almost missed it.

Chris couldn’t help but slam the door a little as he left, locking the deadbolt with a too loud clunk.

* * *

“What did you expect?” Barry said as he and Chris inspected and cleaned their weapons early the next morning, “The Captain’s not exactly the friendliest guy on a normal day and he was probably hurting. Not to mention how annoying you are...”

“Funny.”

“I’m surprised he let you stick around as long as you did. You going back later?”

“I have to at this point. If anything I gotta give back his key.”

Barry snort a little in the back of his throat in amusement. “It's not like you to miss an opportunity like that, to mess with the Captain.”

“I’m tempted not to go back and let him be stuck in his own apartment for a couple days until he has to call and beg me to let him out.”

“But?”

Chris shrugged and took a moment to think as he greased the firing bolt of one of the rifles. “He was trying to act fine but he was pretty messed up. Somebody’s gotta make sure he doesn’t drop dead or something.” And Chris was starting to have some uncomfortable thoughts about Wesker, aside from the ones that made him wake up with a raging boner.

Wesker said he’d been looking out for himself since he was a kid and acted like people caring about him was a pretense. After so many years with that mindset, even if Wesker needed help, did he know how to ask?

When Chris’ parents died he not only had to look after himself but Claire as well, had to prove to social services that he could do so over and over again so they wouldn’t take away his only remaining family. Asking for help would surely be viewed as admitting he couldn’t do it, so for months he piled everything upon himself and not only refused to ask for help but rejected it when offered. He nearly drowned under it all until Claire talked some sense into him and reminded him they didn’t have to be alone.

Hell, if it wasn’t for Barry giving a shit about him Chris would still probably be bumming around New Jersey looking for a job.

Who did Wesker have? There were no photos of family, no numbers listed by the phone. Whoever this Anna person was she wasn’t around anymore.

Well, he had STARS Alpha Team now, whether he liked it or not.

Barry reached over to Chris’ cleaning supplies and stole the last intact pipe cleaner. “Nice of you to care about the Captain. I was actually not expecting that of you, considering the Air Force.”

Chris bristled a little but breathed it out. Barry wasn’t wrong; Chris’ history with authority figures was patchy at best. “Yeah well... The Captain can be an asshole at times...most times...but the fact is he’s a good captain. I don’t know about you but I’m not up to breaking another one in if Wesker keels over.”

“True.”

“And let’s be honest as long as work gets done he’s pretty lax.”

“Ignoring your god-awful guitar playing isn’t lax, Chris, that’s blatant lawlessness.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Jill wears ear plugs.”

“Shut up.”

“The K-9 unit howls throughout the RPD.”

“No, that’s Forest’s singing.”

Barry chuckled and, with a last glance down the rifle’s barrel, reattached it to the bolt and stock assembly. “Truth is, as much as I like Enrico, he keeps a tighter office with Bravo and I’m just used to Wesker not giving a damn now.”

“Considering how often you leave early that’s understandable.”

“I have kids. Wesker understands that.”

“I’m sure Enrico does too.”

“Yeah, but Wesker lets me leave whenever just to avoid me showing him pictures of the girls.”

“So what you’re telling me,” Chris said with a smirk, “is that you want Wesker to hurry up and recover so you can go back to slacking off.”

“I wouldn’t say it like that but yes.”

“I’ll remember that when I drop in on him today.”

“When are you going?”

“Lunch. Just gonna check on him then come back.”

* * *

Chris knocked before he unlocked Wesker’s front door and entered, just in case his captain was lounging around in his tighty-whities or something. Not that Chris would mind, but...

“Wesker?” he called, though wondered if he should be quiet if Wesker was sleeping. The couch was empty so Chris headed to the bedroom. He stopped and stared at the mess of a bed. It had been used but the bedclothes were askew and Wesker’s crutches were abandoned on the floor.

“Wesker! Where...” Chris froze at the familiar _click_ of the hammer of a pistol being cocked behind him. He turned, very slowly, to face the kitchen.

Wesker was sprawled on the kitchen floor, back against the counter, his Samurai Edge pointed at Chris’ head. Its barrel wavered in Wesker’s trembling grip but Chris wouldn’t count on a miss.

Shit.


	4. Spiralling

Chris raised his hands slowly into a placating position, also showing he was unarmed. “Captain, what are you doing?”

Wesker let out a labored breath, coughed, and the Samurai Edge dipped a little. Chris took a cautious step forward and it snapped back up to his head again. Wesker’s eyes were too bright and unfocused and his face flushed, beads of sweat on his forehead. Of more concern were the drops of watery red on his shirt where one of the worst of his wounds was. He was bleeding again.

“Okay, how many of those pills did you take?” Chris asked, alarmed more at Wesker’s silence than his state.

“None...had to...needed to think...” Wesker ground out. He sounded terrible. But the words woke something up in him and his eyes focused slightly. “...Chris?”

“Captain, it’s me. It’s Chris, I’m not going to hurt you, so put down the gun.”

The pistol wavered but didn’t lower.

“Everything’s spinning,” Wesker whispered.

“Put down the gun, okay? Please?”

“If they come...” he spasmed, flinching against the counter and his wild eyes looking around.

“Who? Nobody’s here, Wesker, just me. I’m not going to hurt you, you’re safe, but you’re in bad shape and need help. I’m here to help you.” Chris worried he was going to have to try to dive for the gun and wrestle it from Wesker’s grip, either that or leave and call the police which...

God, that would ruin the captain.

Wesker was watching him, neither in anger or fear but some kind of resignation. “If they come for me,” he said, “I can’t even run away...” he trailed off into a bubbled laugh that was ugly and flat. The Samurai Edge drifted away from Chris but was still raised, Wesker’s finger on the trigger.

Chris took another slow step and lowered himself to one knee, trying to be less threatening. “It’s alright, nobody’s here but me. Give me the gun.”

“I hid all the keys...One’s in the statue...”

“Albert,” Chris whispered, and held out his hand, “Give me the gun.”

Long, labored breaths separated the two men, and then, slowly, focus came back into Wesker’s too-bright eyes. He looked around, then at the gun in his hand. He sighed.

The loaded clip dropped from the pistol and hit the tile with a clatter that made Chris wince, then Wesker set the Samurai Edge on the floor and slid it towards him. Chris picked it up, eyes still on Wesker, and removed the round loaded in the chamber.

“Okay,” Chris said and let out the shaky breath, “Okay, we’re not doing that again.”

“Sorry,” Wesker grumbled, staring vaguely off to the side.

Chris slid the pistol into his belt as a temporary place until he found somewhere safe to keep it and then crept towards Wesker.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I woke up and thought...everything was tilting and loud and...” his brows furrowed in confusion, “I don’t know...”

Chris put a hand on Wesker’s shoulder and frowned in concern. He could feel the heat through Wesker’s shirt. “Fucking hell, Wesker,” he sighed, “You’re burning up.” He probably woke up in the night mid-delirium and everything spiraled from there. The tremors running under Chris’ fingers became pronounced and turned into shivering.

“Enough of this,” Chris muttered, “I don’t care if you’ve managed fine on your own before, you’re not fine now. I shouldn’t have left. I’m putting you back to bed and then I’m gonna call the office and ask Jill or Joseph to bring some of my things.”

Wesker tried to push himself up. “N-no...”

Eyes narrowed, Chris put a hand on the side of Wesker’s face, gently but firmly making his captain look at him, “Either that or I’m calling an ambulance and making damn sure the doctor’s declare you mentally unfit to make decisions for yourself so you’re stuck there until you’re better. Those are your options.”

Wesker’s eyes widened just slightly, and then his lip twisted. “Redfield, I never imagined you so _forceful_.”

“Oh fuck off,” Chris said, releasing his face.

Even hanging off of Chris, Wesker huffed and panted and shivered all the way back to his bed. Chris was very worried, but attributed it to the bad night. He decided that if Wesker didn’t look better after some rest and medication, or if he had torn open his stitches, he was taking Wesker back to the hospital no matter what.

“Do you need a bathroom run? Maybe a shower...?” Chris asked awkwardly. Wesker smelled like staleness and sweat.

Wesker glared out of the corner of his eye but said, “Not right now. I want to lie down.”

Chris helped him back into bed, pulling the covers up a little past Wesker’s waist to keep him warm but not encourage his fever to go any higher. Once Wesker was horizontal his ire and consciousness started to bleed out of him.

Chris tapped at his face. “Hey, did you take any meds last night?”

“Antibiotics...after you left...”

“Okay, I’ll get your stuff then I’m checking your bandages. You’re bleeding again.”

“Oh.” Wesker was fading fast.

“Me or the hospital, which one?”

His eyes half-lidded, Wesker stared off passed Chris who almost asked again when he whispered, resigned, “You.”

Chris nodded and went back to the kitchen. With the loss of a few doses of this and that throughout the night and the morning, it took Chris a few moments to sort through the medications and what Wesker should take. He eyed William’s super-painkiller and reconsidered. The stuff the hospital gave Wesker didn’t do much for him, Chris saw that for himself, but he’d taken the one pill before Chris left and apparently went bonkers overnight. Though, could he really blame the pill for that? It might have been the fever. He sighed and tapped out one of the new pills and hoped for the best.

He helped Wesker sit up to take his meds and drink a glass of water and then eased him back down.

“I’m gonna wait for that painkiller to kick in before I start poking and prodding you.”

“Lovely, dear-heart.”

Chris made a disgusted face and scurried back to the kitchen to refill Wesker’s water. What the hell was that? Must be a weird British thing.

While waiting for the medication to kick in, Chris cleaned up. He put the crutches back in Wesker’s reach, checked the bathroom (oh look, Wesker puke), and then went hunting for a gun safe to which to return the Samurai Edge. No such luck on that one.

“Hey, Wesker, where d’you keep your gun?”

Wesker blinked into partial consciousness and started sniggering. “In my pants.”

Okay, he walked into that one. “And where does your Samurai Edge go?”

“Nightstand. Drawer.”

Chris opened the lone drawer on the nightstand and slid the gun inside. He’d keep the ammo elsewhere until Wesker’s faculties could be properly trusted again. In the drawer was Wesker’s wallet and badge, some sealed envelopes, and buried under that the corner of a photograph could be seen. Chris really wanted to look at it but Wesker was watching him, his face already smoothed in relaxation. That stuff worked fast.

“You feelin’ better?” Chris asked.

“I’m always better,” Wesker said, his accent completely unfettered, “I’m better than everyone.”

Chris rolled his eyes, “And humble too.”

“Humility is a false form of egotism. Better to be honest about my betterment than youism.”

“Right. Since you’re doped up now I’m gonna look you over.”

Wesker didn’t fight him as he pulled the blankets back and rolled up his shirt but watched him with interest. The stitches hadn’t been torn but were pulled a bit, the bleeding minor and already stopped. Chris went for the antiseptic to wash it out and re-bandage the wound.

“You want to know something funny?” Wesker said absently as Chris returned with the materials.

Oh god. “What's that?”

“My hair normally looks like yours...”

“I can see that.”

“...So I spent forever trying to learn to get it controlled, I can do it in my sleep now, but when I was younger it was so annoying... Then you show up with your stupid spikey hair and you do that on purpose! What’s the world coming to? ...Oh god that’s a preposition...”

“Yeah no ending sentences like that in British speak.”

Wesker winced as Chris cleaned the wound, the spike of pain sobering him a little. “I went to school in Boston, you idiot. You pick up an accent after years of listening to stuffy New England professors.”

“Why would you go to school in Boston? British schools not good?”

“I’m not British! That’s not even a British accent! You’re from New York how do you not even recognize... Are you fucking with me?”

Chris smirked, “Maybe a little. Once you said Boston I figured it out. So you’re from Boston.”

“No, I went to school in Boston. I’m from Texas.”

Chris stared at him. “No you’re not.”

“I am. Born and raised until... How old was I...?”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Born in Fort Worth. How do you think I fake this gratey-flat drawl as you put it?”

“I still don’t believe you.”

“And I don’t believe you’re from New York City,” Wesker muttered as Chris pulled his shirt back down and started checking his arm cast and other injuries. “I know, let’s switch origins.”

“I’m from Texas and you’re from New York now?”

“It certainly makes more sense in a stereotypical way. I’m smart in both education and common sense, more cultured, experienced, good looking... And you’re...you.”

“Thanks. Nice to know you’re an asshole for real and not just acting that way.”

“Oh come now, you’re not all bad, Chris. You’re smart in an instinctual way, headstrong, gruffly handsome, and despite what I say you're not a complete idiot. I wouldn’t have you on my team otherwise.”

“Thanks, that’s probably the best praise I’m going to...” Chris trailed off.

Wesker just said he was handsome.

_What._

Chris hated the heat that flushed through him. He coughed and focused on checking Wesker over. “So,” he choked out, “Why’d you go to school in Boston?”

“Boarding school. My parents sent me when I was... I don’t remember.”

“That must have been hard, being separated like that.”

“They died soon after.”

“Oh.” Shit. “I’m sorry.”

Wesker waved his good arm dismissively, “I was very young, Chris. I don’t remember them. Still, I suppose that’s something we have in common.”

“Well that’s depressing.” Except Wesker should have been old enough for some memories when he was shipped off to boarding school. But that would have been a long time ago, he supposed, and maybe that’s how young Wesker handled the loss. There were many times Chris had wanted to forget things when he lost his parents.

But that wouldn’t have been fair, even if he could. Not to Claire, not to his parents, not to himself.

Even doped up Wesker must have noticed his sudden silence. “I did not mean to bring up bad memories, Christopher.”

Wow, the full name. “It was a long time ago, Captain. It's fine. And I’m almost done.”

“Taking time to admire my physique?”

For the love of god, Captain, _please_.

Fortunately Wesker ruined whatever thoughts may have started in Chris’ head as he started laughing. Not the usual chuckle Chris enjoyed, not even that stupid snigger, but some slow, ridiculous cackle that made the hair on the back of Chris’ neck stand up.

Chris took advantage of Wesker’s drugged state and clapped his hand over Wesker’s mouth to make it stop. Wesker stared at him, Chris stared back, then slowly pulled back his hand.

Wesker blinked blue, unfocused eyes. “Buy me dinner first,” he whispered.

Chris fled.

* * *

“Let me guess,” Barry said on the other end of the phone line, “You’re not coming back today.”

“Yeah. Wesker’s fever spiked during the night and I found him messed up. I’m gonna stay and make sure he doesn’t do something stupid.”

“Just going to remind you he’s a grown-ass man and your boss.”

Chris sighed. “I found him collapsed in the kitchen waving his gun around and talking about people coming after him.”

He could _feel_ Barry’s head drop into is free hand. “Please tell me you locked it up after you got it away from him.”

“No but I hid his ammo. Worst he could do now is throw it at me but he’s on so many drugs at this point I think he’s seeing two of everything.”

“I’ll update Enrico on what’s going on. You call if you need anything.”

“I’m actually gonna need some stuff if I’m gonna stay. Think you could spare Joseph or Jill to grab some things for me or at least relieve me while I go get them?”

“I don't know, there’s just so much going on...”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah...Kenneth got a splinter in his thumb. It was touch and go for a bit there but I think he’s going to be okay. The four-by-four he was handling at that moment...not so much.”

“What’s he got a four-by-four for?”

“I didn’t ask, it’s Bravo. They do weird things.”

“They say the same about us.”

“Yeah but we’re the good looking team so we’re excused.”

“I can’t argue that.”

“Anyway, I’ll send someone along. Don’t be afraid to call for help; the team’s ready and willing to gang up on the Captain with Operation Mother-Hen.”

“He’d kill us all.”

“Sure but I’d die laughing when Jill force-feeds Wesker chicken soup. You know she’d shove the whole spoon down his throat.”

_I can imagine other things down his throat..._

Chris coughed as saliva went down the wrong tube. “Thanks Barry, I’ll keep you all posted.”

“Good luck.”

* * *

With a possible guest coming Chris decided to at least toss the porn magazines under the sink where no other poor, innocent victim would suffer their implications. He found them almost new despite the fact they were months old, as though Wesker just had them for whatever reason.

It had only been a couple of hours and yet Wesker was in discomfort, whatever relief the painkiller gave long gone. Even when he managed to sleep he shifted and twitched and pain lines formed around his mouth. Chris woke him for another round of meds but no painkiller and Wesker struggled in swallowing them down.

“I want to get up...” he ground out, good arm flung over his head.

“Not yet, you really need to stay in bed a while.”

“Chris...”

“I mean it. Maybe later when your fever’s lower, it’s gone up again. I’ll get you more water you need to stay hydrated.”

“I can...take care of...myself.”

Chris was tired of this. “Yeah? So what if you can? You shouldn’t _have_ to.”

Wesker stared at him, his tired eyes not comprehending.

Chris felt hollow and sad.


	5. Expectations

Jill knocked on what she hoped was Wesker’s apartment door. Chris’ directions weren’t the best and whoever designed the door numbers apparently didn’t believe in sight beyond five feet. Chris opened the door and they both looked at each other in relief.

“I brought the special weaponry license renewal forms you were working on, otherwise I couldn’t think of anything you needed from the office,” Jill said as she entered at Chris’ wordless invitation, “so I’m relieving you for a bit.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

She shrugged. “It’s not like I had a big afternoon planned. I mean I’m still a bit baffled you can’t leave this and Wesker alone, because what happened wasn’t your fault…”

“Jill,” Chris sighed, his tone leaving no room for argument. Normally she would push him, and he let her, but now and again with just her name he could drop a wall between them and she couldn’t get to him. They were also in someone else’s home; it wasn’t the time or place.

“Alright, alright. Where is Wesker, anyway?”

“Asleep, I hope. If he wakes up make sure he stays in bed. There’s sandwiches in the fridge…”

Jill crossed her arms and said, voice short, “I’ll stay here with him and make sure he doesn’t somehow die, but he’s a grown man and I am not babysitting him, sure as hell not feeding him…”

“I meant for you.”

“…Oh.” She uncrossed her arms and gave Chris an sheepish look as she tucked some hair behind her ear. “Sorry.”

Brow arched in concern, Chris grabbed his jacket off the back of the couch. “Something happen at work?”

“No, why?”

“You’re just…moody.”

Jill shrugged, pacing around the front room and looking at…nothing. There was nothing in this place. Wesker never struck her as the type to live the spartan lifestyle. “Just…” she lowered her voice, “loyalty’s great and all, and you know I think a strong team is a close one but…”

“You think I’m overdoing it?”

“A tad.”

Lips pursed and brow furrowed, Chris pulled on his jacket slowly. He rarely had trouble articulating his thoughts, everyone on the team had learned that fast, but Chris was earnest in a way that meant he wanted to be sure what he was saying was what he meant, so sometimes he needed to take a second and sift out what that was.

“I meant to just check on him and see if he needed anything,” Chris began, his voice also lowered, “but he looked like shit and nobody was here but me. Maybe it is guilt, I don’t know.” He paused, zipped up the jacket, “Maybe he didn’t even need my help this morning. He could have ridden out his little episode and gone back to bed and no one would have known. He says he can take care of himself.”

“You think he can’t?”

“No, I think I can tell him we’ll be here to help him all I want and he won’t believe it, so he’ll be here suffering by himself because the idea of someone giving a shit about him doesn’t occur to him. I guess I’m trying to show him rather than just saying it.”

She wasn’t expecting that answer. “I think I missed something.”

Chris shrugged out of his thoughtful fugue and said, somewhat glibly, “Oh, he told me earlier he kinda had to take care of himself growing up.”

Mouth twisted downward, Jill removed her own jacket and went looking for somewhere to hang it. “So not guilt, but projection.”

Chris’ brows knit in confusion and then tightened into annoyance.

She continued, “You had no one to help you at one point. But if someone had shown up and given you a hand—“

“ _Jill_.”

So much for not doing this here. She gave up and tossed her jacket on the couch. “Sorry. Look, forget it. So long as you don’t start spoon feeding him or something I guess it’s not a big deal. On the other hand next time you get hurt on a mission I’m going to make sure to harass you endlessly.”

“God, I’d love that.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” she muttered, “Get outta here already. Anything else I need to know?”

“Uh…don’t touch Wesker’s things.”

“What things?”

“I _know_ , right?”

* * *

Jill tossed the paperback back onto the coffee table in boredom. She hoped Wesker was reading such heavy-handed schlock because there was nothing else here and not because he liked it. On the other hand that would explain a lot.

The rustling of sheets alerted her and she got up and poked her head into his bedroom. In the middle of pulling down the blankets, he regarded her blearily.

“Chris,” he murmured, “you seem to have grown some new curves.”

“Funny, Captain.”

“Is it your turn to hold my hand in my suffering?”

Jill leaned against the door frame. She didn’t smile but the muscles around her mouth twitched slightly. The truth was while she respected the Captain, he was good at his job, the man himself always left her guarded. Maybe it was the rank between them, maybe it was his annoyingly transparent boasts about women, maybe it was actually him, keeping his distance from all of them. But she was fine with that. He was her superior, not her friend, and they needed to see each other professionally before anything else. Still, they were teammates and being personal, for once, was not a crime.

“I’m just here to bear witness should you croak.”

“Good to know. What’s the betting pool look like?”

“Most people got put down for your full recovery but we got a few daring souls hoping to benefit from your demise. Forest’s bet you come back with a limp, though.”

“He’ll make a killing, I’m going to have at least a knee brace when I come back to work.”

“Well I just lost twenty bucks.”

“So sorry.” Shifting, Wesker propped himself up on his good arm and stared out the window.

Jill sighed. “Wesker, if Chris is really bothering you, I’ll make sure he gives you some space.”

The bloodshot eyes snapped to her, staring deep in that way she hated. Unlike everyone else, she wished Wesker wore his shades more often. She looked away.

“I suppose he’s not doing any harm. And my…reaction last night was worrisome.”

“Probably should have stayed in the hospital…” Jill sing-songed at him.

“Then you all wouldn’t have an excuse to get out of work, would you?”

Jill smirked, “Well spending time with you here isn’t much better.”

“Your bedside manner is terrible.”

“So’s your regular manner but we all just have to put up with that.”

He actually smiled at her.

She pushed off the door frame and glowered menacingly at him, “And if you’re getting up I’m supposed to stop you.”

He gave the weakest little wave of his good hand in dismissal. She had to work on her menacing stare, apparently.

“I’ll give Chris a few days to mother hen me -to a point- to get whatever’s going on in his head out of his system. I admit I haven’t been this badly laid up before and an extra pair of hands could be useful.”

“He made you sandwiches.”

“See?”

She rolled her eyes and, with her own dismissing hand wave, started back to the front room. “If you need anything, give a yell. Otherwise I’m just going to watch TV.”

“I need to take a piss.”

“Yeah, you got crutches for that, _sir_.”

* * *

A shower in his own home left Chris refreshed and after packing some clothes and food he headed back to Wesker’s place. Jill gave him another one of her Meaningful Looks before taking her leave and Chris tried not to be too annoyed about it. Jill was a good friend and only ever meant well, even if she could be a bit pushy.

Wesker was asleep again and didn’t wake up during Chris’ coming and Jill’s going, so Chris put his food away and went hunting in the hall closet for spare blankets for himself. He found a pillow and a woolen blanket that Wesker probably stole from an army barracks it was so scratchy.

“Come _on_ , Wesker,” Cris muttered in disappointment, tossing the bundle onto the couch.

The phone rang.

Chris considered ordering pizza as he hurried to the kitchen to answer it.

“Hello,” he said.

There was no answer, but he could hear the telltale background noise that meant that there was someone on the other end.

“Hello?” he tried again.

Finally, a short voice demanded, “Who is this?”

What the hell? “I’m Chris, Wesker can’t come to the phone right now,” he did his damnedest to sound polite through grit teeth, “Can I take a message?”

They hung up. Chris rolled his eyes and returned the phone to its cradle.

“Who was that.”

Chris jumped at Wesker’s sharp voice. Goddamn it, Captain.

“I don’t know, they hung up,” he said, sticking his head into the bedroom. Wesker glared at him with too bright eyes.

“Don’t answer my phone.”

“Uh, why?”

“ _Don’t answer my phone_ ,” Wesker ground out, his voice at that dangerously low point that was almost a hiss.

“All right, jeez…” Chris threw his hands up in mock surrender, “Can I use it to order pizza? Or does that displease His Highness?”

Wesker gripped his side as a rough cough wracked through him. “Do whatever,” he gasped out, “Just don’t answer it. Bring it in here when you’re done.”

“Fine,” Chris crossed and then uncrossed his arms. Wesker’s stupid independence was obnoxious but he was so pathetic and hurt right now that Chris was having trouble keeping himself from feeling sorry for him. “What kind of pizza you want?”

“I don’t think I can eat right now.”

“I’ll put it in the fridge for later.”

Wesker hesitated. “Pepperoni and pineapple.”

“You fiend, you _would_ like pineapple on pizza.”

“I like the tangy contrast.”

“Still gross, Wesker,” Chris said then went to make the order. He put the phone on Wesker’s nightstand when he was finished. Wesker was asleep again, albeit fitfully.

Chris watched more boring TV. The pizza arrived and Chris channel-surfed while he ate; there had to be some stupid TV movie on, right?

The phone rang in the other room and then was cut off as Wesker answered. Chris wasn’t so obvious as to turn the TV down but he couldn’t help but try to listen, but to no avail. At best he heard a few muttered answers from Wesker but couldn’t make anything out.

Why was Wesker so secretive? Chris sniggered to himself at the immature thought of Wesker’s _secret gay lover_ , which backfired into an inner stab. He slouched into the couch in petulance.

Oh fuck, he was _jealous_ of an unlikely scenario. Wesker was just a high-strung asshole who didn’t like people in his business. This wasn’t a revelation, he was like that at work too. Chris sighed in frustration and flipped through channels so fast he couldn’t see what they were.

The sound of Wesker lurching out of his room on his crutches caught Chris’ attention.

“Need something?” he asked.

Wesker said nothing but gestured with his head towards the bathroom.

“Do you…”

“I swear to god, Chris, if you ask if I need help I will beat you to death with this crutch.”

“Fine.” Chris went back to watching TV. “By the way, get some fucking cable there’s like…five channels.”

“There’s eight,” Wesker muttered before the bathroom door shut.

“Yeah but three of them are so shitty I can’t make anything out,” two more were barely passable and repositioning the antennae did nothing.

It was half an episode of a sitcom and several commercial breaks later Chris realized Wesker hadn’t come out of the bathroom yet, much less made any noise or flushed or anything. With a sigh Chris got up and knocked on the door.

“Wesker?”

No response.

“Come on, Captain, I don’t want to have to rescue you with your pants down.”

Another bout of silence and Chris pushed open the door.

Thankfully, Wesker’s pants were not anywhere they shouldn’t be. The man had sat himself down on the edge of the bathtub still dressed and dozed off, slumped against the wall.

Chris squat down and, gently, put his hand on Wesker’s shoulder and gave him a slight shake.

“Wesker? This isn’t the best place to nap.”

The other man’s eyes fluttered open and stared at Chris, lacking comprehension. He suddenly threw himself backwards with a cracked grunt, eyes wide, as though expecting to be attacked. Chris barely caught him.

“It’s me! Shit! Calm down, it’s me, Albert.”

Shivering, Wesker looked around in confusion, his good arm grabbing hold of Chris’ own. “What…”

“You’re in your bathroom, no one else is here but me,” Chris soothed.

Wesker took several shuddering breaths before his eyes locked on Chris’, the fever-brightness sharpening to a point as recognition returned. Wesker pulled his hand back roughly.

“Of course it’s you…” he muttered, “who else would it be…”

Despite Wesker practically snarling at him Chris placed his hand on Wesker’s forehead. “Your fever’s spiked again.”

“No shit!”

“Back to bed.”

Wesker deflated, scrubbing at his face with his good hand. “I want a shower.”

Chris sighed. “I don’t think you could manage that right now, not to mention your dressings…”

“I want to be _clean_.”

“Well a full shower’s out,” Chris knew he was pushing it but he couldn’t help but make soothing circles on Wesker’s shoulder with his thumb, “How about we birdbath it?”

Wesker stared at the floor a second and then nodded in resignation.

“Okay.” Chris stood and turned the bathtub faucet on low, letting it warm up while he found a washcloth and soap. Wesker continued to stare at the floor, unresponsive, until Chris squat back down and started to remove his shirt.

“ _Don’t touch me!_ ” Wesker snarled with such vehemence Chris jumped to his feet. Wesker’s eyes were practically burning with hate and challenge.

“Wesker…”

“Don’t touch me,” Wesker seethed, “You and everyone else, always touching me, getting in my face, forcing your way into my home. Get out and _leave me alone!_ ”

Chris didn’t move, either towards Wesker or to leave. The other man was practically vibrating now, face flushed, eyes unfocused, and panting. He couldn’t leave Wesker like this, but the Captain’s guard was through the roof via fevered paranoia and trying to handle him like that would end badly for both of them.

“I’m going to turn the water off,” Chris said softly, then reached past the injured man to the faucet. Wesker hunkered down a little, muscles constricted in preparation to spring, but he otherwise didn’t move. Then Chris stepped back and squat down to be less threatening.

“What do you want to do, Wesker?” Chris continued, keeping his voice low, “I’m just trying to help you.”

“That’s not the question,” Wesker ground out, staring right into Chris’ eyes, “It’s what do _you_ want. Why are you here, except to get something from me. What is it? Stop this pretense and tell me, make both our lives easier.”

Chris stared in bewilderment. “What?”

“A raise? A promotion?” Wesker carried on, “Is it Enrico’s job you want?” his eyes narrowed, “Maybe mine.”

Chris’ fists tightened in anger, his blood running hot from them, but then it passed through his hollowed chest and recirculated lukewarm and sour. “You really do think that, don’t you? That I’m here because I want something.”

“What else is there?”

“Maybe that I give a shit, you fucking moron!” Chris rose to his feet, standing over Wesker in some attempt to get through his thick, building-proof skull, “Maybe because none of us want you here suffering alone! Because we’re a team, and you…”

Wesker’s eyes hadn’t followed him up. He was still staring ahead, where Chris had been, and then shut his eyes. He turned his head and pressed his fevered brow against the cool, tiled wall. He was shivering.

Chris gave up. He could yell and rant later. What was really unnerving him about this was the suspicion he saw something real in Wesker just now. The man genuinely believed no one was going to help him except to gain something, not even his own team. But why? So he grew up in a boarding school, so he was an orphan like Chris, that explained the indifference Wesker displayed but not this level of paranoid stupidity. Hell, that William guy had shown up to help, somewhat. Chris sighed in frustration; he didn’t know what to think. Maybe it was just the fever and pain talking.

“Come on, Captain, back to bed. You’re too fucked up right now.”

Wesker squeezed his eyes shut and moaned into the wall, a sound that, in any other circumstance, would have gone straight to Chris’ dick. Thankfully, Wesker looked so pathetic that the noise bounced harmlessly off Chris’ clavicle instead. Chris reached to grasp Wesker under his arms.

Wesker recoiled. “Don’t touch me,” he repeated, voice off and breathy, and then stared to slip backwards.

Chris grabbed him, ducking down with one hand on Wesker’s shoulder and the other arm reaching behind his back to hoist him back up.

“I said—!”

“Yeah, I got it, sorry but you’re gonna fall over, you idiot.”

He was too close to Wesker now, holding him upon the lip of the bathtub. He could hear Wesker’s labored breathing, could feel the heat and the shivering, and a disturbing twitch running up Wesker’s arms. The older man reached up with his good arm and grabbed Chris’ shirt, fist twisting into the material.

This was too intimate. It became even more so as the fight bled out of Wesker and he slumped in Chris’ hold, save that one hand that was now listlessly pushing against him.

“I want,” he gasped out, low and weak, “to lie down.” He again tried to push out of Chris’ hold, backwards.

“Not in the bathtub you’re not.”

“’M burning…”

“And a cold tub’s not gonna help with that. Wesker…”

“ _Please_.” Another half-hearted shove.

Chris didn’t like this at all, not what Wesker wanted, not how he was acting, and not at all how well that voice punched straight into him.

“Okay, just a few minutes while I get you some drugs because holy shit.”

He eased Wesker back, turning him so he slumped against the corner of the bathtub while his injured leg remained propped on the edge. He was too tall for this generic apartment shower to fit comfortably but he didn’t fight as Chris manhandled him into some kind of restful position. Wesker’s eyes shut but he continued to shiver.

Chris went into the bedroom and grabbed Wesker’s pillow and several blankets off the bed, then tucked the whole lot around Wesker best he could to keep the chill off.

By the time Chris finished sorting pills and returned, Wesker was half unconscious and getting the pills down proved difficult. Chris was sick of Wesker and the whole mess by the time he was done and wanted nothing more than to go crash on the couch a while, but something told him to stay.

Something also told him he really needed to call the hospital and get Wesker back there, but the thought that the captain might never forgive him for it made him wimp out and so in the bathtub his captain remained.

Surrendering, Chris grabbed the schlocky paperback from the coffee table and settled himself onto the toilet.

As usual, his instincts proved correct when Wesker went from dead to the world to a single spasm and then vomiting. The man barely woke up for it and might have choked on his own sick had Chris not pulled him up and turned him, letting it soil his blankets but otherwise splatter harmlessly in the bathtub. There wasn’t much; it was mostly liquid, but it left Wesker exhausted and shaking in his arms.

Maybe a raise wouldn’t be so bad.

* * *

Chris was beginning to learn how deep Wesker’s sleep was based on how much he moved, so when the older man began to twitch, one hand moving as though he was trying to grab something, Chris changed the channel from cartoons to something more appropriate for a grown man to be watching.

It was still another ten minutes or so, but Wesker shifted and his eyes opened, thick with crud and bleary. He blinked at Chris a few times.

“How you feeling?” Chris asked, muting the television.

Wesker’s eyes shifted around. “I’m…what happened?”

“You fell asleep in the tub like I said not to, and hey, turns out I was right. Practically fainted in my arms. After puking on everything…” Chris muttered the last part.

When Wesker continued to stare in non comprehension, Chris continued, “I put you on the couch so I could keep an eye on you without having to crawl into bed with you. Figured that wouldn’t be appreciated.”

“You…guessed correctly…”

“Anyway, you still have a fever but it’s not as high as it was.”

Wesker tried pushing himself into a sitting position from his awkward slump against the arm of the couch but quickly gave up. Chris could see his arm trembling. He regarded the scratchy wool blanket Chris had put over him, and the chair from his desk his subordinate was now occupying, giving Wesker the whole of the couch. He slid back down, gazing at the ceiling.

“Thank you, Chris…for looking after me.”

Whoa.

Wesker continued, his speech sluggish, “I admit I…haven’t been this ill in a very long time. Perhaps I underestimated the severity of my injuries…”

There was no perhaps abut it but Chris decided not to say that.

“You need anything?” he asked instead as Wesker shut his eyes, a tense line forming between his eyebrows.

“Meds.”

“Not yet. You managed to get one of your friend’s superpills down only a few hours ago.”

“Chris.”

“Yeah?”

“I know William told you only one, and I admit, under normal circumstances, he’d be right, but neither he nor you understand the absolute _pain_ I have been in for the last few days. I can’t… I am begging you, Chris, to give me another one.”

Chris winced as Wesker’s voice slipped into a guttural rasp on his plea.

Wesker sighed at his hesitation. “If it helps, the worst that’ll happen is I astral project myself into another dimension, and considering the pain that might not be a bad thing.”

“Okay, I’ll get you another one. But if you go psycho then that’s it, got it?”

Wesker raised his good hand and sloppily crossed his heart.

Chris got up and fetched a glass of water and one of the mystery pills. “Didn’t take you for the type to believe in astral projection,” he said as he handed Wesker the pill and placed the glass on the coffee table within reach.

“I’ll believe in just about anything if I’m high enough.”

“Oh? Anything?” Chris couldn’t help the wicked grin.

Wesker shakily took the glass and gulped down his pills. “Just about, I said.”

“Psychic mind voodoo tricks?”

“That’s real.”

“The moon landing?”

“Faked.”

“Reptile people overlords.”

“Please, Chris, humans are bad enough on their own.”

“The gremlins that always make my paperwork disappear?”

“I bred those myself.”

“ _I knew it_.”

Wesker’s mouth twitched in a smirk and he tilted his head back. “Find my shades, will you?”

“Okay…?” Chris got up and went to the kitchen where he last saw them. “We gonna go hunt John Connor now?”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“I want to sleep but the TV’s going to bother me.”

Chris tossed the shades onto Wesker’s chest and sat himself back into his chair. “Is it too loud?”

“No, knock yourself out, Redfield.”

“If you wake up super high am I going to know?”

“Yes,” Wesker sighed, sliding on his sunglasses and dropping his head back. He readjusted himself with a pained wince and then settled.

Chris waited until he heard a faint snore before he switched back to cartoons.


	6. Nightmares

It was late afternoon, encroaching on early evening, and Chris was eyeing the leftover take-out in the fridge with suspicion when the doorbell rang. He was expecting Jill or Joseph, or even Brad if he lost the coin toss, what he got instead was the whole Alpha Team standing on Captain Wesker’s doorstep.

“Oh no,” he whimpered.

“Happy to see you too,” said Jill.

“We come bearing tribute,” Joseph added, holding out a stack of tupperware, “since the Captain’s probably not gonna cook for a while.”

“Oh, he’s cooking…” Chris muttered, and stepped aside to let in the small horde. “Don’t be too loud or make sudden movements,” he cautioned as they filed in and shut the door behind him.

Barry eyed him warily, “Wesker’s cranky?”

“Actually, for the moment he’s…anything but cranky.”

Wesker was sprawled on the couch, woolen blanket askew, staring intently at the ceiling corner while whispering to himself, so softly his words couldn’t be made out.

“Hey, Captain,” Barry said with a wave, “How’re you feeling?”

“He’s on some amazing drugs right now,” Chris explained, taking the tupperware of food into the kitchen, “Don’t expect much outta him.”

Jill approached and waved her hand in front of Wesker’s face.

“Don’t do that!” Chris hissed.

“What?”

“He bites.”

“Are you serious?”

“He got me earlier. Fucker has some sharp-ass teeth.”

Jill rolled her eyes and sat on the coffee table, eyeing her captain. “You doing okay, Wesker? Chris treating you good?”

Wesker’s head lolled slowly, until he was looking at Jill. Or she assumed he was, since he was wearing his stupid sunglasses. He swallowed, then, voice raspy, ground out, “The world is dark…depressing…full of shadows…Who could be okay in such a place…?”

She sighed in frustration and pulled his shades off.

With a gasp of horror and much blinking of his eyes, Wesker shrunk back into the arm of the couch. “Ohhh my god…Jill…You’ve saved us all…”

“You’re welcome.”

“What power you wield…I will never forget this…”

“Sure,” she sighed, and pat him on his good shoulder.

Joseph leaned against the kitchen counter, watching the ridiculousness. “Man, wish I’d brought my camera. Think of the blackmail possibilities.”

“I think you’d mysteriously disappear before you could use it,” Brad whispered, his tone so severe Chris wondered if he actually believed it.

“Still, worth it.”

Barry shook his head and regarded Chris. “How’re you doing? You gonna keep this up much longer?”

“Why? You want in on this sweet babysitting gig?”

Barry chuckled, “Sit on my ass and watch Wesker have a trip? I might. But seriously, Wesker’s gonna be out for a while, we’re really going to need you back at work soon.”

Chris winced internally. It had slipped his mind; he’d been so worried about Wesker he’d forgotten about the strain of losing two people at work on the others. So long as nothing came up it wouldn’t be so bad, but if there was an emergency he wasn’t around or even ready to go should he get called up. Barry was Wesker’s second on Alpha but with two people gone on their team Captain Marini and Bravo were going to have to pick up all the slack.

Damn it, Chris was trying to do better. He wasn’t being fair to them, but Wesker was obviously not okay right now, either.

“I’m just…Just helping out while he’s having trouble getting around…or high off his ass. As soon as he’s over the worst of it, I’ll be back.”

Joseph shrugged, then said, voice low, “That shouldn’t be too long, considering.”

“Considering?” both Chris and Barry asked, unconsciously following suit and speaking softly.

“Think about it. The Captain fell, what? Two, three stories? And then the building fell on him. He crashed on the way to the hospital. Man should have been laid up at best for weeks over there. Instead, within a damn day—“

“It was more than a day,” Chris sighed.

“—he waltzes his ass outta the hospital and comes home. Who does that?”

Barry shrugged, “Wesker’s lucky, I guess. People have survived worse and walked it off. The human body is weird.”

“Just sayin’.”

“He does have an old college buddy who works at the chemical plant,” Chris offered, “And Umbrella’s, y’know, right there. Maybe they got some new fancy shit at the hospital. They built it.”

“Why are we whispering?” Brad asked, sticking his head into the huddle that the three men had formed.

“So Wesker doesn’t hear us, obviously,” Joseph hissed, more annoyed at realizing he actually had been whispering than at Brad.

“I don’t think the Captain hears anything right now, he’s telling Jill about a giant snake that lives in his basement.”

“It’s an apartment, it doesn’t have a basement.”

“I know!”

Jill leaned over the counter, joining the huddle, “It’s kinda cute. Like a pet that murders people.” She paused, frowning, “Unless it’s a euphemism for his dick…”

“Jill, for the love of god, never mention Wesker’s dick again,” Joseph said.

“Wesker’s killer dick?”

“Guys, stop.”

“That’s why he’s a real… _lady killer_!”

“You all suck.”

Jill grinned and then slapped Barry on the arm, “Tag, your turn to talk to Captain Wackjob.”

After a session of Barry pretending to take notes from Wesker (which included feeding him to what they could only assume was a woman in some Japanese tentacle porn Wesker was hiding if Barry got the team killed before he did), Alpha said their well-wishes and farewells and left. Chris was relieved as he slumped into his chair but couldn’t help but feel the absence. If Wesker’s mood was better it would be a great little break from work, but no, the Captain could be a bitch at times.

A sexy bitch, yes, but the sexy only carried so far. He was far more tolerable when high, though not much of a conversationalist. And there was absolutely nothing to do in this place.

Chris stuck the shades back on Wesker’s face and turned on the television.

* * *

Chris jerked awake to the sound of Wesker catching himself before he fell off the couch.

“Whoa, hey,” he shook himself to wakefulness, “You okay?”

Grumbling, Wesker tried to swing his injured leg off the couch. “Bathroom…then I’m going to bed. You’re obviously tired…the couch is yours.” He paused, looked out the window and noted the passage of time. “So what’s the verdict? Did I go psycho?”

“You were very…out of it, let’s say. The team dropped by, you don’t remember?”

Wesker frowned, head tilting just slightly in thought, “Barely…” His head snapped up towards Chris and the younger man could feel Wesker’s eyes burning into him like laser beams despite the shades. “What did I say?”

“Oh don’t worry,” Chris smirked, “Aside from a bit of fun everyone knows you’re on meds and—“

“ _What did I say?_ ”

Wow, chill, Wesker. “Just…stuff. Stuff about your dick and your secret Japanese hentai collection or something.”

The tension in the room eased as Wesker leaned back, apparently relieved. Chris hadn’t noticed how close the captain had leaned toward him, his focused so narrowed on Wesker’s intensity.

“Damn, Wesker, I get you’re our superior but it’s not like STARS is gonna fall apart if everyone knows you’re human.”

Wesker was barely paying attention to him. “Yes…of course.” He reached for a crutch and tried to haul himself to his feet. Chris stood and helped him.

Chris could feel the tension in Wesker, vibrating in a way that wasn’t physical but could be felt nonetheless. Mouth opening in a snarl, Wesker suddenly clicked his teeth shut and said nothing. He let Chris help him up and down the hall.

“Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“I remember some things from earlier, and I have no recollection of mentioning hentai specifically. How, pray tell, do you know that word?”

“I…uh…oh look! Here’s the bathroom! I’m sure you don’t want help so off you go and give a holler if you need anything!”

“Hmm…”

* * *

Chris could only conclude, as he shifted around once again, that Wesker had gone out and purposefully found the shittiest couch in existence. The cushions somehow gave no support but neither were comfortably soft and squishy. They were sacks, had to be, sacks filled with shitty, low grade dirt. The fact the couch wasn’t even a real couch but a loveseat didn’t help, and Chris’ options were to keep his knees bent and contort himself to fit or prop his legs up on the arm, which started to hurt his knees after a bit.

The floor would have been better, and Cris would have happily slept on it except the scratchy woolen blanket of death wasn’t big enough to completely wrap around himself and it was getting nippy. The carpet was also scratchy and there were no more blankets to spare.

Growling in frustration, Chris flung aside the blanket and got up. He couldn’t sleep like this, but he also couldn’t _not_ sleep. He sighed. Okay, first he’d take a piss, eat a sandwich (or raid the food the team had dropped off), then watch TV until he dozed off.

Ugh.

The toilet flush was over-loud and made Chris wince, and then, after the light of the bathroom, the hallway was pitch black as he tried to feel his way back to the front room.

The familiar click of a gun in the bedroom made him sigh, loud and pissy.

“It’s just me, Wesker, and I took out the bullets, remember?”

There was a long pause and a couple more clicks from the dark as Wesker undoubtedly checked, then, “What are you doing?”

“Taking a midnight piss, whaddya think?” Chris took a breath and scrubbed at his face, his stubble long and as scratchy as his blanket, “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” God he sounded as shitty as he felt.

Another pause, then, “Something wrong?”

“Don’t worry about it, go back to sleep before you start hurting again.”

Chris blinked as Wesker switched on the lamp beside his bed, glaring at him.

“You can’t sleep, can you?”

“Really, Wesker, don’t worry about it. Go back to sleep.”

Wesker’s thin mouth grew taut as he mused to himself, then, with a frustrated sigh, grabbed at what was left of the blankets at his side and weakly flung them down. “Come on, the bed’s big enough.”

Chris’ mouth plopped open, slack as a fish’s. “What?”

“That couch isn’t the most comfortable for a grown man, I know. It doesn’t help either of us if you can’t sleep.”

Oh no. Sleeping next to Wesker. _Oh no_.

“No, no no, it’s fine, Captain…”

Wesker rolled his eyes, “Sleep on top of the blankets if that makes you feel better. Hurry up, I’m turning the light out.”

The bed did look a lot better than the couch, and Wesker was the one suggesting it… Oh hell. Chris hurried back to the front room and grabbed the wool blanket and then, with hesitation he couldn’t help despite his brain yelling at him to stop acting like a terrified teenager, pulled Wesker’s blankets back down and climbed on top.

“Wow, you actually _are_ …” Wesker sneered, then rolled over as much as his injuries allowed and snapped off the light.

Chris pulled his blanket over himself and stretched. Hell yeah he was staying on top of the covers, he couldn’t trust himself to not cuddle up to Wesker and surprise them both with a secret lust boner. Oh man, was the bed much better, though. Everything else in Wesker’s apartment might be cheap but the man obviously knew the importance of a good mattress.

“Wesker?”

A sigh. “Yes?”

“Your couch sucks. Where the hell did you even get that?”

“The side of the road.”

“…What?”

“Just before you joined, I saw it on the side of the road. It didn’t look wet or dirty, so I made a team exercise excuse and had everyone help me haul it home.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Ask Barry.”

“There could be anything wrong with that couch!” Chris hissed in Wesker’s direction.

He could feel the other man shrug in the dark. “Nothing’s bitten me yet.”

“You could have warned me! What if it gives me fleas or something?”

Wesker actually sniggered at him.

Chris rolled over with his back to Wesker, arms crossed in petulance.

* * *

Something woke Chris up. Startled, he momentarily forgot where he was and reached for an end table that wasn’t there. Right, he was… He was in freakin’ Captain Wesker’s bed, because the universe both loved and hated him. What woke him up?

The bed jerked under him. A small, brief movement, but Chris was a light sleeper and it was enough. Then it did it again. There was just enough ambient light from the window and the red, glowing numbers of the alarm clock on Wesker’s side of the bed to see the source.

Wesker twitched in his sleep, his uninjured leg shifting under the blankets, and his good arm sloppily thrown over his head. Chris would have tried to go back to sleep save the other man’s expression. His mouth was twisted, down and then open in a pained snarl, and his eyes clenched shut. His breath hissed through his teeth, becoming short and harsh.

Chris rolled to facing his captain, arm reaching out, and then hesitated. The man was obviously in the midst of a nightmare, a thin sheen of sweat beginning to become visible in the red light, but considering Wesker’s previous reactions to being touched or handled, waking up so suddenly being grabbed by someone in his bed was most likely not going to end well.

“Wesker,” he said, softly, hoping that would be enough.

If Wesker did hear him, he incorporated it into his dream and tried to roll away, a pained grunt ripping through his throat as he jerked his injured limbs, the blankets becoming twisted around him.

Okay, never mind. Chris prepared himself for a punch in the face and reached for Wesker’s shoulder, pulling him down onto his back. The fever was raging again. “Albert!”

Wesker woke with a gasp, his red-backed silhouette becoming no less calm as he lay there panting, mouth open and chest heaving.

It’d be erotic if Chris wasn’t so worried.

“Wesker?”

He didn’t answer and his breathing didn’t slow, instead Wesker reached up and touched his own face with his hand, as though unsure it was still there, or still the way it was supposed to be. “I…where…?”

Shit. “You’re at home, your apartment. It’s just me here with you.”

“…Happened…?”

“You got hurt, and you’re also sick. It’s getting close to time for another dose of meds so you’re fever’s spiked and you’re probably feeling like shit. I’m just here to look after you.”

Slowly, Wesker’s breathing began to ease. He lay there quietly for several moments and Chris let him, waiting for him to either wake up or fall back asleep.

Wesker’s head snapped towards Chris, his eyes hidden in the shadows but no less made Chris suddenly feel very, very uneasy. The same feeling of wrongness that William-No-Last-Name had, but deeper, wronger, crept over his skin.

“Wesker…?”

“Why?”

“Wh…why what?”

Holy fuck he couldn’t even _see_ Wesker’s eyes but he knew they were focusing on him like a predator to its chosen prey.

Everything was suddenly wrong. The dark, the bed, Wesker’s unseen eyes, the red light backing him. Like Chris didn’t so much wake Wesker as dragged his nightmare into reality.

Chris clenched his eyes shut, the old childish belief that whatever was here that was so wrong and bad couldn’t get him if he couldn’t see it.

Without thinking, his eyes still shut, Chris reached out until he felt Wesker’s burning skin under his hand.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, both to his captain and to himself, “You’re okay, it's just a nightmare.”

His ears popped. Or that’s what it felt like. The unfelt pressure of the dark, and the red, and the unseen eyes snapped out of existence, and Chris was left in the dim ambient light of a plain bedroom, his hand resting on the side of Wesker’s face. He could feel his stubble and heat, the movement of lashes under his thumb. Wesker had rolled closer to him during the…whatever the hell that was, and very little space separated them. Chris swallowed.

“You okay?” he asked before he could think of why.

Wesker’s eyes, and he could see them now, narrowed in confusion. He nodded, and pulled away from Chris, rolling away. Chris started to ask where he was going when he was blinded by the table lamp being lit, and cursed.

“Sorry,” Wesker ground out, his voice rough, “I need water…” and he started to push away his blankets.

Chris blinked and rubbed at his eyes. “I got it…you stay here. I’ll get some of your meds too…”

Stumbling to his feet, Chris yawned and went into the kitchen. He should have put a glass by Wesker’s bed from the beginning. Oh well, live and learn.

Under the kitchen lights, the remnants of the waking nightmare oozed away, and Chris was left with bemusement. Clearly he hadn’t been all that awake either yet, for his imagination to go that overboard on him. He gulped down half a glass of water for himself and then filled one for Wesker, picked through the mass of pills, and returned to the bedroom. Wesker was still lying down, his face flushed and eyes bright, hand absently scratching at his face.

“What happened?” he murmured.

“Nightmare,” Chris said, voice low. He gave Wesker the pills and wait, then handed him the glass, guiding his shaky grip. Wesker was still out of it enough not to snipe at him about it, and thirsty enough that as soon as the water touched his tongue he started gulping fast.

Finished, he let Chris take the glass and lay his head back. “Did I…say anything?” he asked, and Chris couldn’t help but note the slightest waver of that vulnerability from the first day he’d dropped in on Wesker.

He chose to ignore it. “No, but you were obviously distressed. …Should I not’ve woken you up?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Wesker said, and shut his eyes.

Chris left it at that. Either Wesker fell back asleep or he was trying to, so Chris refilled the glass and left it on the nightstand, then switched off the lamp and crawled back into bed.

* * *

Chris was a light sleeper, and so was something of a restless one. He was known for traveling across the mattress in his sleep, or waking up crosswise somehow on a cot. As such, he wasn’t surprised to find that he’d twisted himself into a ball in his blanket and was now only occupying a quarter of the mattress space. He _was_ surprised to find his faced firmly shoved into something. Something warm and not very yielding. And smelled like sweat. Right, Wesker.

Fortunately the captain was absolutely dead to the world and unaware that Chris had smooshed up against him in the night, his face now firmly planted against his side. The blankets had been pushed down in his sleep, and only a worn t-shirt separated Chris from from bare skin. He could feel every breath, a long, painful sound in his crushed ear. A slow, sleepy beating heart. The slide of ribs under skin.

Chris wanted nothing more than to move his hand up Wesker’s stomach, follow along up over the chest, and sink his teeth into the soft space under the jaw, sucking, to hear Wesker moan and gasp with nothing between them but the worn cotton of their shirts, easily discardable…

Ah, hello, morning boner.

With a grunt and awkward shuffling, Chris got off the bed and hurried to the bathroom, to the safety of the shower where the sound of the spray on porcelain would hide his…handiwork.

This was bad, this was very, very bad. It was too far. It took all his effort in that moment not to touch Wesker, something the man had made clear, sexual or otherwise, he did not want. 

His hands shook as he tossed off his clothes and cranked on the shower, begging for clarity as the water beat onto his skull.

Furthermore, every other element of bad in this scenario aside, Wesker was still injured. Chris’ fantasy ignored the casts, the bandages, the pain he would cause should he lay his weight on Wesker, the damage as he slid between the man’s legs, grinding his still-clothed hips against the captain’s…

Fuck fuck fuck!

He leaned his arm against the wall, resting his forehead against it, the other hand traveling down his front to his erect cock.

…His hands mussing through Wesker’s soft hair as he sucked and bit around his jaw and mouth, not yet kissing, not wanting to block those delicious moans and gasps. Wesker’s hips bucked in want beneath him, the rough fabric of his sweats riding up Chris sides as his legs bent in response, thighs tight around Chris, begging, begging…

And it was Chris ’damn fantasy, so he tossed out reality and their clothes disappeared, exposing Wesker, healed and whole, to him. Hot, and wanting. Save the shirt, just Wesker’s, that Chris, in a frenzy, tore apart, freeing the heaving, fevered torso, which he attacked with fervor. Licking, sucking, working himself downward…

_Chris…_

God, oh god. Wesker whispered his name, in that lilted, mid-Atlantic accent, his hand touching Chris’ face and guiding him back up, back to those blue eyes. Say it, Wesker, say it…

_Fuck me._

And Chris kissed him then, hard, pinning Wesker to the mattress. His leg was over Chris’ shoulder, ready, hips grinding in impatient need, his own cock erect and straining, and Chris complied…

Chris hissed through grit teeth as he pumped his cock, the spray of water turning cool compared to his heated skin.

Wesker gripped him, his strong arms crushing Chris to him as he plowed into Wesker, slamming him back against the bed so hard the headboard banged against the wall in rhythm to every conjoined thrust…Hot, sweaty, heaving…the crash of wood on wall, the slap of flesh on flesh, Wesker’s gasps and curses in his ear, slick, lilted, harsh, begging, _demanding_ …

Chris bit into his arm as he came, trying to muffle his strangled cry. He kept pumping, riding out his orgasm, his cry turning to a whimper.

…Wesker was kissing him now, calloused, hot hands roving down Chris’ sweaty body in soothing motions as they came down. Hips swiveling, prolonging their pleasure as he freed his leg fro Chris’ shoulder, though his thighs kept their strong hold, trapping Chris to him…

Chris panted against the shower wall, letting the last shudders of lust work through him. He turned off the hot water and let the cold spray bring him back to reality, watched the water carry his mess down the drain. Let it wash away his fantasy.

He was so fucking screwed.


End file.
